


what he wants

by sparxwrites



Series: Perc'ildan AU [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Emotionally Repressed, Guilt, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tenderness, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:57:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: “You,” says Percy, low and gravelly, voice rough with something that might almost be called arousal as he pins Vax bodily against the wall. “You owe me this.”Vax grunts, surprise and anger twisted into a nasty little noise that lodges in his throat. He doesn’t try to push him off, though, moves pliant and easy under Percy’s manhandling despite the sneer on his face. “I don’t owe you shit, de Rolo,” he snaps.





	

“You,” says Percy, low and gravelly, voice rough with something that might almost be called _arousal_ as he pins Vax bodily against the wall. He’s shaking. Vax can feel it, the thin tremors running through him where they’re chest-to-chest and thigh-to-thigh - fight-or-flight, adrenaline, twitchy as it pumps through his veins. They’ve spent all day at each other’s throats, all day snapping and sniping and glaring, and this- this is where it ends. This is where he _makes_  it end. “You owe me.”

Vax grunts, surprise and anger twisted into a nasty little noise that lodges in his throat. He doesn’t try to push him off, though, moves pliant and easy under Percy’s manhandling despite the sneer on his face. “I don’t owe you _shit_ , de Rolo,” he snaps - and then gasps, because Percy’s hand has found its way inside his breeches, popping the button off them in the process and shoving them a few inches down his hips. 

“You _owe me_ ,” growls Percy against his skin, leaning in to ghost lips over Vax’s jawline, his throat, the line of his collarbones visible through the open neck of his shirt. His breath’s warm enough to make Vax shiver, warm enough to melt the ice that creeps over Vax’s skin and insides whenever they do this. Vax isn’t sure he likes that, but he can’t help the heat it sends dripping to his stomach. “After everything else- after last time- give me this, at least, _let me_ -”

His teeth scrape, whisper-light, against the bolt of Vax’s jaw in quiet, trembling worship, and Vax - Goddess help them both, Vax _lets him_.

There’s a moment’s pause after Vax tilts his head up, baring his throat to Percy’s barely-there ministrations, surrendering reluctantly. For a long heartbeat, they both stay there, Vax rocking slowly into the hand against him, and Percy, well…

Percy’s mouth still drifts over his neck, wet and warm and ghosting. He never commits to a kiss, or a bite, or a sucking bruise - though Vax’s dusty-brown skin bruises surprisingly well beneath teeth and tongue, rising in exquisite shades of dark and purple. Instead, the touch is light, delicate, almost _reverent_ , and Vax squirms uncomfortably under the worshipful attention.

This isn’t what he wants. Or, more truthfully, this isn’t what he _should_  want. This isn’t what they _do_ , this gentleness, this awful, wrenching tenderness, and Vax isn’t sure what to make of it.

“Whatever you’re going to do, get on with it,” he says, eventually, voice strained, more terribly gentle than he was aiming for. “Stop fucking around.” He still doesn’t try and push Percy off, though.

Percy sighs against his throat, a mournful sort of sound, a hot touch of breath to sensitive skin that sends sparks down his spine. “As you wish,” he murmurs, slipping his hand out of Vax’s breeches - Vax had almost forgotten it was there, just still, warm fingers cupping him gently - with some difficulty, given they’re chest-to-chest, little space between them. “As you wish.”

The friction of skin against his cock is enough to make Vax groan, even it it’s just the barest brush of fingers and knuckles as Percy fumbles with the fastenings on his own breeches. It’s gone for the barest second, Percy pulling away to shove the newly-loosened fabric down his hips, enough for his cock to slip free, and Vax growls impatience low in the back of his throat. He wants, and he wants _now_ , doesn’t need this fussing and fiddling. He needs contact, needs _friction_ , he needs-

When Percy finally presses closer, close enough there’s barely room to breathe, and wraps a hand around the both of them - all long fingers and scarred palm and callouses - Vax quite literally sees fucking _stars_.

It’s quick, and messy, neither of them interested in dragging this out or being polite. Vax leans back against the wall, lets Percy lean against his chest, and fucks up into the loose circle of Percy’s fingers with the slightest twitch of his hips and soft huffs of exertion. Percy’s face is still tucked into the crook of his neck, warm lips against his pulse point, warm breath against his skin, and he can feel how badly Percy’s breathing is stuttering already. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word lost in Percy’s hair just under his lips. It’s too much, overwhelming - the heat of it, the friction, the tiny noises Percy’s making against his throat, all soft grunts and thin whines. His thighs are starting to shake with the effort of staying upright, and he wants to reach up and grab Percy’s hair, tug his head back, expose the line of his throat and bite bruises into it until Percy _bleeds_  beneath his teeth, but he’s pretty sure he hasn’t got the coordination for that right now.

He’s pretty sure he hasn’t got the coordination for _anything_  right now, anything other than rocking up into Percy’s hand and luxuriating in the slide of their cocks together and the weight of Percy against him and the warmth of Percy’s mouth.

To his surprise, though, he’s not the one that comes first. That dubious honour goes to Percy, who twitches against him, lips sliding open against his neck in a thin, muffled whimper. It’s all the warning he gets before the space between them is suddenly slick and slippery, no longer a half-dry drag of flesh against flesh but an easy glide as Percy struggles to control the ragged gasp of his breathing post-orgasm.

He’s as quiet in orgasm as he is in pain - and it says something Vax doesn’t want to think about right now that Vax has seen him hurt before, seen him bruise and bleed and break, but has never seen him come. Never seen him like this, soft and open and shuddering with pleasure, sex-dazed and panting.

A few more seconds of thrusting, and Vax comes, too, to the feeling of Percy softening against him, the memory of Percy’s whimper against his skin. Heat rises in him like a forest fire, a too-loud cry building in his chest, and he bites his own lip hard enough he tastes blood to throttle it in his throat.

For a single, glorious minute, they stay there like that - Percy’s hand crushed damp between them, Percy’s weight heavy on Vax’s chest, Percy’s mouth pressed in something that might be a kiss to point where Vax’s pulse thrums close against the skin. It’s quiet, and soft, and oddly _intimate_  in a way they’ve never been before.

It makes Vax’s skin _crawl_ , the moment he regains enough sense to actually think about what they’re doing. How _stupid_  they’re being.

“…Get out,” says Vax, low and angry, into the silence of the room. It’s quiet enough he can hear every breath they each take, can hear the beat of his own heart in his ears - and he wants so _badly_  to be cold, but he’s _not_. There’s warmth curled in the pit of his stomach, the aftershock of his orgasm, warmth and _guilt_  like hot knives straight through him that he’s not quite sure how to deal with. “ _Get out_.”

Percy pulls away from the crook of Vax’s neck, slowly, and the look on his face can only be described as _stricken._  “Vax-” he says, quietly, lost. “I didn’t- I only-”

“Out!” It comes out louder than Vax intended, loud enough maybe for the others to hear, if they’re close by - as if they don’t already know about it. As if they haven’t seen the bruises on Percy and the hollowness in Vax’s eyes, and frowned, and pursed their lips, casting silent judgement on something they don’t understand, couldn’t _possibly_  understand.

Finally, _finally_ , he shoves at Percy, hands against his chest, nails digging into skin exposed by his half-unbuttoned shirt.

If the action brings up bruises, if Percy’s pale skin rises in one-two-three-ten soft ovals of purple-blue where Vax’s fingertips have dug in deep, perhaps then this will have been the same as all the other times before. Perhaps then, nothing will have changed, there will never have been this terrible _tenderness_ between them and Vax will never have felt _warm_ , felt cracked in two-

Percy doesn’t bruise, but he does step back, something _awful_  in his eyes. It looks almost like understanding, and Vax feels abruptly ill with it. “Very well,” he murmurs, eyes on the floor as he buttons his trousers up, tucks his shirt into them, combs a hand through the sweat-damp mess of white hair atop his head. “Very well. …Goodnight.”

He leaves silently, without another word.

Vax waits until he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him, and then lets his knees buckle. He slides to the floor, back against the wall, knees to his chest, and laces fingers over his head with a shuddering sigh. “Fuck,” he mutters, head to his knees. “ _Fuck_.”

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s _not_. This thing is supposed to be ice and anger and an inch from cruel, not- not warmth, not gentleness, not _this_. But it was, and it is - and Vax isn’t sure why he feels so fucking _broken_  when they both walked away from it unbruised, but it feels like something’s cracked in his chest, jagged and aching. It feels like he’s been beaten black and blue with just the barest touch of Percy’s lips to his skin, and he _hates_  it.

Curled on the floor, alone in his room, he digs nails into his scalp, winds fingers into his hair, and _pulls_  - and tries to pretend, without much success, that they’re Percy’s hands instead of his.

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by an anon who said, "Perc'ildan hatesex anon again, imagine, they always fuck on bad days, of course, but it's a different kind of bad day. They're not mad at current events outside the bedroom, but rather within. Glaring daggers all day, Percy switches up that night". this was the only real way i could see percy being anything even remotely approaching sexually aggressive in this weird au thing i'm apparently writing, so...
> 
> come talk to me @sparxwrites about these angsty idiots.


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